Under the blue sky, upon the green grass
by Schattenseite
Summary: The man who is later known as the Mouth of Sauron comes to his future master searching for immortality and power.
1. A house in the grove

Author: Schattenseite

Category: Slash, angst, darkfic, Silmarillion-based  
Pairings: Sauron/the Mouth of Sauron, Sauron/Ar-Pharazon, Lord of the Nazgul/The Mouth of Sauron  
Rating: R I think  
Beta-reader: Milly of Isengard

A/N: I haven't found yet any fic concerning the Mouth of Sauron, so this story I dedicate to him.  
Disclaimer: I do not own Sauron, the Mouth of Sauron, Ar-Pharazon and the Nazgul.

Chapter 1

A house in the grove

Sky still does not darken in Anadune, breezes are gentle, and the sun shines as ever but, shadow already lies in the blessed Elenna. No vessels can be seen arriving to Andunie from Eressea, the shrine upon Meneltarma is forgotten and desolate- people do not want to remember their gods who raised and enriched this land for them.

The fair Armenelos lies at the feet of the sacred mountain, and it glares so, it hurts the eyes for all in the city shouts of wealth and prosperity- its gilded roofs and spires, stained glass in windows made of incredible bright colored pieces, flashing as a chance ray of the midday sun decides to strike upon one of them. Fine scents of exquisite expensive spices are hovering in the air, people are walking to and fro, some are hurrying on business, and some are roaming without any purpose. Noble ladies clad in gems and gold, mariners just returned from a regular voyage to Endor, tradesmen and warriors, children fled from their parents, apprentices and lords from the kings palace-all is mingled in the uninterrupted movement of the human anthill. A splash of life, a zenith of splendor and mightiness before fading forever, before dying…

There is a house not very big, it is not far from the city- but the place there is quiet and calm, hidden from inquisitive eyes in a small grove. Just a common house like these that well-to-do Numenoreans own, who can already allow themselves a certain amount of slaves from Endor and still cannot allow themselves a part of the land in colonies. But its windows are well curtained so that a chance look cannot penetrate behind the façade and learn some of the secrets of this- at first sight, just a common house. But there are no chance visitors… and only one road led from this place to the capital. People know who owns this house. It was built by the permission of the king Ar-Pharazon the Golden, and belonged to his captive and counselor.

The rooms are never lit up enough, for the owner prefers gentle dusk, now he sits on a black soft couch, he is dressed in black robes and his white hands calmly lying on the knees, making a sharp contrast. He is an unusual person, his appearance attracts all eyes, for his skin is very pale, almost transparent, and the hair is extremely light- it seems to be white, compared to the Numenoreans it is short, just reaching the shoulders and a little bit longer- light as a feathers, there are some little careless plaits from below. In contrast, his eyes are deep, unkind green, with inhuman vertical pupils like two malicious emeralds for eyes. His features are perfect, a beautiful face, but strangely unnatural and lifeless. He looks like more a figurine than a living man.

He is not alone. You can recognize in his guest, one of these proud noble Numenorean lords with great ambitions and impressive fortune, whose secret wishes are so easy to predict. Especially in this time.

The gray eyes shift uneasily, though he pretends to be confident and calm.

"So?" The cold voice was heard from the black couch.

"Well, my lord, I just wanted to… well…"

The Numenorean shook his head, and his black hair scattered in disorder over his shoulders.

"I understand." He chuckled coldly.

_It was clear for me, already, when I merely heard the sound of your horses hooves approaching my house. Moreover, what can such a Numenorean lord like you long for? Such a rich and mighty one? I perceive your cherished dream, your inaccessible mark, what the Valar denied you… and the most of you still lust for. And you were daring enough to beg me for it. Well…_

"Immortality, magic power, secret knowledge… Am I right?" The kings counselor asked indifferently.

_Of course, of course I am right…_

"Well… yes…" The pale man whispered, fidgeting nervously on his chair.

"But I am ready, ready to pay," The Numenorean exhaled, and pressed his pale lips. "All what you demand… gems…gold…slaves…land, I don't care!"

_Do you really think that is what I need? That such is a worthy payment for countless years of immortal life?_

The sorcerer on the couch shut his gleaming eyes, the white eye-lashes fell, his perfectly contoured lips moved in a slight smile. "Can you offer anything more?"

The Numenorean shuddered, and stared at various phials standing on the shelves along the walls. They were glimmering faintly in the dim light of the only lamp, hidden itself, on the small table between ancient scrolls and bowls filled with strange liquids. A carpet lay under his feet. He knew it was soft pile, for he had such a carpet at his chambers himself, and they were delivered from the Southern lands. Those savages made them well- an expensive thing…

A goblet in his hand, made of gold, wine in it, his thin long fingers squeezed it unwillingly. "And what do you want, lord?" his voice trembled a little.

"Anyway… not these worthless tokens of power and wealth you offered me," muttered the Maia. A small wrinkle lay between his straight thin eyebrows.

"What profit can I gain from all this? What I need is you- your soul, and your body to serve me."

"It is a high price but your desires are worth it, aren't they? Otherwise you would simply not come to me. Are you ready for it? "

_Yes, you know what I am talking about, you are a sensible one_.

The Numenorean gulped from his goblet. It was noticeably trembling in his fingers. Then he lowered his head so his hair fell down and veiled his face. Various feelings were struggling in him at this moment. Yes, he knew what the Dark Lord was talking about.

The Dark Lord…that was he, even here and now, even in Numenore at this sunny day even when no ray of sun penetrates the thick curtains of this dwelling. The Dark Lord… darkness…

But hadn't he, the mighty Numenorean lord, made sacrifices for the Darkness, in hope to learn the secret knowledge how to overcome death. The unending life… He was surprised that he couldn't find any matter to refuse, no, he couldn't refuse. The lust for the unending life blazed up in him anew, with an intensity he hadn't felt before. To change his life, to become mighty in magic and to live- to live without thinking of that stone bed that awaited everybody on this island, at one time blessed and now abandoned by the gods. Is this not what he dreamed of for the space of many years?

"I agree," He whispered quietly.

_You know what you chose and you chose it willingly_.

The white-haired one stood up from his couch, and moved towards the wall behind the Numenorean. There he extracted one of the phials from the shelf, and took from the hidden cupboard a cut-glass bowl- and poured out a crimson liquid from the phial in it. Then he jolted the bowl and offered it to his guest.

"Drink."

The Numenorean turned and took the bowl. For a while, he was peering at the contents… but then he drank it all up.

The taste was strange- sweet, and a little bitter, but there was something more in it- and he couldn't perceive it exactly. But when he tried to concentrate on it, he began to burn from the inside. It was not painful, but he wanted to cease the burning. And he felt as if he was blurring, and leaving his own body. He began to fear he would become a puddle on the soft carpet… it would be strange… a puddle on this carpet…

Reality was slipping away…

Who am I?

Everything was slipping away…

He was slipping away from reality…

The host was watching his noble guest, with interest in his green eyes. Now they were sparkling with anticipation.

"Well…" He whispered.

At length, he leaned forward and passed his long fingers over the guest's pale face. For a while, the Maia peered at the Numenorean- and then, he clasped his future minion and lay on the couch, there he was sitting before.

_Time for a little amusement_

Smiling, the Maia began to undress his helpless guest…

His hands caressed and scratched the lifeless body, licking off the flowing blood from the appearing abrasions…. So sweet it was… He couldn't forget its sweet taste, since he had turned himself into a vampire for the first time. As his lust was growing, he began to kiss and bite the naked body of the Numenorean deeper and deeper…

The Numenorean was groaning quietly.

The Maia took off his robes, to better feel the hot skin beneath his body. His own smooth white skin would be in blood… but it didn't matter…

Then he parted the legs of his guest, and swiftly entered the bleeding motionless body with one stroke. The Numenorean gasped, and opened his gray eyes, gazing at the graceful body upon him. He couldn't resist in such a helpless state, moreover he didn't wish to. A strange pleasure, mingled with the feeling of shame, now overcame the man, making him clutch the smooth hips of the kings' counselor to draw their bodies closer…

It was like a flame, searing and soothing, making him desire for more…


	2. What I saw

Chapter 2

What I saw

Six days later, I set forward to Umbar.

Standing on the deck of my own ship, hearing the shrill cries of seagulls drifting on the waves, I was looking forward to my future that awaited me in the Great Lands.

Aspiring to immortality, I abandoned all what had bound me with my former life- I left my house, my lands and my wife there, in Numenor. I disowned my name and my noble origin for what origin, wealth or anything else, has any importance in the face of death?

And I was afraid of death, indeed, I didn't want to die.

I was fleeing from my fate, and from this magnificent stone tomb, dark and dry, where my lifeless body would slowly have been turning into dust for years. There, I would be lying among gold and silver and gems… but it will not matter for me anymore. There, grave worms would be my only companions.

I will be dead, sooner or later. I am still young, according to the Numenorean standards… but for what person does the coming of old age turn out to be unexpected?

People used to tell me that they saw a shadow of the sense of doom in my gray eyes, even since childhood. I didn't fear night rustles under my bed in the dark room, but I was afraid of coming nigh to the sea, for I feared that transparent cold waters could close above my head… for I had seen men who drowned, I remember well their swollen blue corpses, empty goggled eyes staring at void, gray seaweeds in their tangled hair, the stench of rotten flesh already eaten by voracious sea beasts …

No, I didn't want to die.

For I saw my mother dying when I was ten. She was poisoned by one of my step-fathers secret concubines. I still never forget her face, slowly turning green, and distorted by excruciating pain… and tightly clenched by convulsion fists. And her desperate cries becoming lower and lower, turning into a faint moaning before they ceased forever…

I, indeed, didn't want to die.

For I saw valiant warriors writhing with searing pain, choking in their own blood, peering at the bottomless blue sky that is so beautiful, so ruthless in its beauty, trying to inhale for the last time in their life… and washing with their gushing blood the green grass that is so soft and thick, where they had laid with their graceful merry maidens without any thought of death…

And clinging, clinging to life, to their unbearable pain- this straw in the ocean of non-existence, only not to fall into the abyss from which no return can be possible…

While they were dying in anguish life went on…

The grass becomes thicker, sun is smiling from above… but they will see it no more…

And this they call the Gift of Men…

_The Numenorean shook his head, trying to drive away his dismal thoughts. A gentle breeze was playing merrily with his soft black hair. His gray eyes narrowed for the surface of the sea was glaring pitiless. _

There in Endor, there is a land they say, is a land of shadow. A dwelling of hideous wicked beasts marred by evil, a realm of torture and cruelty. So they say.

Well… But I'd rather say, that there I throw down this bondage of mortality… and there I will enjoy every day of my existence, without counting them.

There I could forget, that all in this world comes one day to its end…


	3. Smiling at the sun and falling into abys...

Chapter 3

Smiling at the sun and falling into an abyss

Approaching the palace, the black horse stumbled, but the rider didn't notice it- too deeply immersed in his thoughts. He was attempting to evoke those overpowering feelings aroused in him, when he was taking pleasure from that Numenorean lord, by recalling time and time again the sensual images of their delight.

A quiet moan escaping from the bitten lips of the Numenorean, as light strands of the soft white hair touched the skin of his chest…

Rapacious glitter in the gray eyes, when the tender lips are gliding over the heated flesh…

Thin fingers clutching the surface of the black couch, when the Maia's hot tongue is licking off drops of blood appearing on the pale skin, after bites of the sharp teeth…

The stream of the exciting thoughts was suddenly interrupted.

"Sauron!" A demanding roar drew him pitilessly away from the world of sweet dreams, and back into reality.

He didn't notice that he had already reached the palace. For an instant, his beautiful face twisted. Ar-Pharazon. That was his voice. Sauron jumped off his well-groomed steed, threw the reins to a hastening servant, and moved towards the palace, knowing that the king was watching him from the flung wide open window of the royal study. At length, passing through innumerable passages, he got to the place. The Maia courteously bowed before the king, and quietly shut the door behind him. The royal study was an impressive room, wide and well-lit, a fluffy parti-colored carpet, fine swords and armor along the walls, a large table, and a chair of wood mahogany. The same closet in the distant corner. Everything was very expensive and pretentious. But Sauron didn't pay any attention to it. He looked expectantly at Ar-Pharazon, who was heavily stepping to and fro.

"I was considering all what you had told me, and I made a decision," The king uttered, heaving his head.

_Indeed?_

The Maia narrowed his flashing eyes. King Ar-Pharazon the Golden. He was getting old…

A great warrior he had been once, very tall and strong, with broad shoulders and firm hands. His hard face was already covered with a net of thin wrinkles, gray strands in his black hair, and a flabby belly he hid under his magnificent silk red robes, adorned with gold and gems. He was becoming flabby since he had hung his sword on the wall…

Suddenly Pharazon grabbed Sauron's wrist with his thick short fingers.

"Do you hear me?", he hummed, "Sometimes I have a feeling that you don't hear me at all, and do not want to."

He was getting angry.

Sauron looked at him, and smiled without parting his lips. He answered nothing.

The Numenorean king fell heavily in his chair, still holding the Maia's hand, and threw off his own robe, pulling down his trousers.

Kneeling down, Sauron leaned forward and closed his eyes. He didn't want to see.

_Enjoy it. Enjoy it, as yet you can. Enjoy your power, my lips and my tongue. Enjoy these days of your life, for they are the last which still remain. But you don't know about it yet. And now, just enjoy…_

…At length, another day came.

Sauron was lying on the back on a glade in his grove, avoiding watching at the shining sun.

The dark blue sky above him…

The soft thick grass beneath him…

There is the pulsing life around him, he is life itself, sensing all currents of existence. He is taking delight in being alive, in this possibility to feel all this- this grass, this sky, this body, this pulse of life. To forget about his broken soul, and just to live. Just let those exhausted shreds remember the time they still were alive…

A breeze is tousling his light white strands, a smile on his lips… He knows what is happening now in the harbors- vessels are gathering themselves up, very many warships, a great fleet… Everything he had whispered in the king's ear made its black deed.

The thoughts what he could do with this island after their departing, roused his imagination. His smile became wider. He felt good, and he had a very sensual body, responsive both to caress and pain. Throwing off his robes, he passed his thin fingers over his chest to the stomach, gliding touches to his sides, caressing his smooth pale skin… and then lower…

…He was already at home when the clear blue sky darkened, and it began to rain and hail. Knowing the cause of all this, Sauron started to laugh. If any man heard this laughter, he would never forget it, till the end of his days. The Maia left his house immediately, taking his black steed and setting off to the Temple.

…Thirty eight days passed since the Numenorean fleet had departed.

Sauron, now the lord of this island, had many things to do. He was paying attention to the Faithful that still remained here. The flame in his altar ceased not even for an instant, consuming unclean bodies of their possessors. His sacrificial knife dried not from filthy blood, penetrating their foul shuddering flesh. The walls of his Temple absorbed their desperate death cries, as they were writhing in agony.

At length, tired but content, he sat in the chair before the altar, almost trembling with anticipation.

**The king of Numenor stepped on the blessed land of Aman**

Unwillingly, Sauron clenched the carved arms of his chair.

**The king of Numenor, standing upon Túna, claimed Tirion for his own**

Sauron closed his eyes.

**Hills fell and sent to non-existence, the king of Numenor and all his host**

Sauron began to laugh.

He was still laughing, when the whole land shuddered, and a bottomless dark abyss burst open, devouring everything.

The view of split layers of earth, and enormous waves aroused by the wrath of the Valar, drove him to madness. Never did he imagine that he could experience such an indescribable horror, forgetting all other emotions and feelings, losing the last remnants of reason.

His wide, disbelieving green eyes did not reflect the sensations of his graceful body, when ruthless waves and layers fell upon him with all their terrible power, and he fell into the black abyss… and the relentless waters closed above him.


	4. The Great Lands

Chapter 4

The Great Lands

Umbar. The principal colonial settlement of Numenor. The Numenorian didn't know much about this city and therefore, he was looking about with interest, observing differences between Armenelos, and all provinces of Elenna he had ever visited in the Land of Star, and this seaport. There were many differences: narrow dirty streets, where everybody could be crushed by a bolting horse, for there was no space to dodge. Rude, noisy Umbarians, the unbearable smell of rotten fish discharged too late from the vessels tied up on moorings, the merciless heat and no refuge to hide…

He stayed at the house of his friend of youth, who left Numenor long ago and purchased a plot of land here. Not poor in means, he possessed a rich mansion, a rich one, yes, but of poor taste, as everything else in the city. At first, the Numenorean wanted to linger in Umbar for a while, and to make himself familiar with the customs of the Great Lands, but he found the city was not conducive to this.

So he decided to leave as soon as possible.

In the evening, having supper, that was certainly not managed without fish, he was talking with the Umbarian lord. No, as every Numenorian did, he loved fish and seafood, but he doubted that something like this would be taken to be edible on the island.

_How many days did this fish spent in a hold before being served on the table_

He was not sure that he wanted to know the answer.

"Why did you decide to visit us? As I know this is the first time you have left Elenna."

For a while, the Numenorean kept silence.

"I'm going to move into the Great Lands. People leave Numenore and settle here, or in Pelargir, or somewhere else. You know it yourself."

"And what about you?" the Umbarian wondered.

The guest endeavored not to twist his face, masticating his fish.

"What can you say about the East?" He asked by chance.

The Umbarian lord frowned. "There are no Numenorean settlements eastern than Pelargir. Even Umbar lies too near to Mordor."

The guest smiled slightly. "Don't you know the Lord of Mordor is a captive in Numenore?" He closed his eyes, recalling in his memory the events of that very day which led him here.

"It doesn't matter. He has many minions, among the Numenoreans as well. Certainly you heard about them. The Black Numenoreans. They used to live here in Umbar but left it and moved southwards. Do you still remember Herumor? He used the black magic," The Umbarian whispered very quietly.

"Yes I remember lord Herumor, " the guest answered not a bit embarrassed.

"And they say there is a _nazgul_ there…" the host continued.

"A nazgul?" These tidings were no surprising for the Numenorean, but he pretended to know nothing.

The Umbarian sighed. Pushing away his plate, the Numenorean stood up.

"Tomorrow I would like to go to Pelargir," He said at length.

"I shall prepare a horse," his host nodded.

…The night seemed to be eternal…

Next day he bid farewell to the Umbarian lord, and left the city, riding westwards. Soon he found what he was searching for- a road leading to Mordor…


	5. Incaration of evil

Chapter 5

Incarnation of evil

A recurrent gust of wind carrying the venomous volcanic dust stroke the Dark Tower, but a tall figure on the balcony didn't stir. The black hair rumpled, and the tall one smoothed it carelessly. Black it was, black as his heart - when he still owned one. His didn't care about his physical appearance anymore- a shadow was his nature now. He was waiting, already for many years he was waiting for Him, for his Master.

A couple of years was nothing for him, for he was immortal, but the separation hurt, it added the feeling of being lonely, and he was engrossed in it alone, though he used to share his feelings with his brethren and his Master. But they were away, and he was alone.

Sometimes, when he approached the Ring that was carefully preserved in His dark chambers, he heard it quietly complaining, plaintively whispering:

_Alone, alone… Speak with me, please speak with me for I am so alone… Does He return? When does He return? Don't go please, speak with me…just don't go_…

And he always left the chambers immediately. His own ring was silent.

He felt a timid movement behind his back and turned. A hideous smell of a long unwashed body, foul clad and reverential fear- an orc entered the balcony, trembling and bending almost double.

"Goth," (1) he cawed, not daring to meet his gaze. No orc dared to meet the gaze of the Lord of the Nazgul.

"Mash?" (2) the Black Captain whispered.

Endeavoring to control his shivering body, the orc continued.

"Tal tark skaatuga ugadhol-ghaara." (3)

As he had said this, he pressed himself quickly against a wall and cowered for the Nazgul passed by, having already forgotten about his existence. Gasping convulsively, the orc slid down feebly along the wall…

Mentally the wraith smiled, stepping noiselessly over the cold floor of lonely passages. He had been already feared when still alive, and his heart had been beating and his blood had been running in his veins. People had shuddered when they had heard his name- for a great conqueror he had been, ruthless and merciless, a mighty Numenorean general, a son of the king. His inexorable sword had made no difference between old and young, men, women and children, spilling their contemptible blood for the glory of Numenor, and bringing death all of them who stayed in his way. They had not even dared to curse him aloud…

I was waiting in a large cold empty hall, the flame of torches was trembling with gusts of the wind, and shadows were dancing over the high ceiling and in the corners, whispering vaguely their mysterious song.

I had felt his presence before I saw him.

It was as if thousands of fine icy blades penetrated my body and my soul, searching for the heart. First I thought he was merely a shadow, but then I perceived he had also a face and a body not of mortal flesh. And I was surprised, for he was no doubt Numenorean- his appearance confirmed it. But not a common one, the bottomless gray eyes- the color of a storm wave, the perfect features, the long hair, as dark as a moonless night - very tall and broad-shouldered was he.

The Numenorean of the royal kin of old, before this kin fell into decay.

And his gaze I couldn't endure.

"Welcome, I was waiting for you," he hissed, the coldness of the grave slabs was in this hiss.

I nodded, unable to say anything.

"Follow me," he continued, turning and moving toward the black collapse in a wall.

I obeyed.

… My chambers in Lugburz were wide and quiet, situated on the upper levels of the Black Tower - they were nigh to His chambers. Only the Lord of the Nazgul dwelt nearer- a sign of unlimited trust.

_After many centuries, the Black Captain will occupy the Tower of Sorcery, and I will dwell in his chambers, and there already will be no one between me and my Master…_

As for the first Nazgul, he had me in that very first night. I will never forget his infinitely cold hands holding tightly my shivering body, his chilly lips gliding over my wet skin, his inhuman icy flesh penetrating me, and every movement of this flesh inside me froze the cries that were trying to escape from my lips, and his breath was a breath of death…

That was long ago…

I am told Numenor perished, but nothing stirred in my soul. I begin to forget…

And I am waiting…

Notes:

(1) – Goth- The Black Speech- "Lord".

(2) - Mash- The Black Speech- "What?".

(3) – The Black Speech- "There is a man arrived from the island".


	6. The Mouth of Sauron

Chapter 6

The Mouth of Sauron

_(Actually, I didn't want to write this last chapter)_

At length, He appeared in Mordor. The others eight Nazgul returned earlier. But Sauron already couldn't create a fair embodiment for himself. Nevertheless, the Numenorean was content. The meaning of his life became the servitude his Lord. He thought that was a worthy meaning.

The images of the past faded soon forever, the feelings lasted a little longer, but at length they nonetheless disappeared, without leaving any remnant or shred in his heart. He had a long servitude in the Black Tower and he became one of the most favorite minions of the Dark Lord, being mighty and trusted. The Mouth of Sauron was his name now.

He got everything he had ever wished. He became powerful and immortal.

And now he wished for more. And there were possibilities of it. He lived for many ages feeling the pulse of this life and this life was good…

The Mouth of Sauron was witness to innumerable battles, victories and defeats. He had left Mordor, had gone to Harad, and returned. He returned, when his Master had returned for the second time. And everything began anew. Once again his mark, his might, Lugburz- his home again. He knew already no home, save the Dark Tower. As if he had been born here.

_I am born here. Here, for the second time. _

**I am the Mouth of Sauron.**

**Is there any one in this rout with authority to treat with me?**

But that very day and that hour nevertheless came. For even he knew, that everything in this world had its end.

Deeply in his heart he knew it.

And so it happened. And he perished with the fall of Barad-dur, feeling no repentance, but inexpressible bewilderment…

_But I achieved, I achieved…!_

He had already no time to arrive at the end of this thought.

His soul like the souls of the Nazgul never appeared in Mandos.


End file.
